Don't
by DeJean Smith
Summary: Bella Swan hated the word "Don't." It made her see red. Every. Single. Time. And she had heard it frequently in her thirty-two years. Who knew that when circumstances beyond control took her to an Airbnb, she might encounter someone—or something—that hated the word "Don't" just as much.


**This was my entry for the Twilight Tricks and Treats Contest (2018)—I won the Validator's Choice and the Haunting Award. Thank you sooooo much to Midnight Cougar who helped me step outside my comfortable little writing nook and branch out into a spooky, scary, suspenseful realm. I am going to leave this as uncompleted for now just in case a few more chapters bubble up (which I think they will).**

 **For readers of A Port in the Storm, I haven't forgotten it; life has been very…putrid lately, and the mojo to write the happy ending that Bella and Edward deserve (and was planned from the beginning) needs to return before I sit down and write.**

 **Tomorrow is Election Day here in the US. I hope and pray it brings a sense of peace and healing.**

Story Summary: Bella Swan hated the word "Don't." It made her see red. Every. Single. Time. And she had heard it frequently in her thirty-two years. Who knew that when circumstances beyond control took her to an Airbnb, she might encounter someone—or something—that hated the word "Don't" just as much.

Standard Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Don't

Bella Swan wasn't a risk-taker, per se. She was more of a rule-follower. Ish. Speed limits were given the standard plus seven miles per hour over because Charlie always said any less than that wasn't worth the officer's time to pull you over unless he was under quota. She gave Caesar whatever her tax accounting software said he was due every April 15th—although often mailed it in on that day and not a minute sooner. She even tried to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep every day, for the love of Pete.

But—and to everything there was a but.

Bella Swan hated the word "Don't."

It made her see red.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And she had heard it frequently in her thirty-two years.

" _Don't walk alone across campus after dark."_

Well, there was a reason she carried pepper spray and had taken personal defense classes. Her father, bless his soul, had been a police chief prior to being diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease which took active duty away from him. His last years had been filled with fishing trips and visits to his best friend, Billy, before the two had the unfortunate opportunity to meet a mama bear and her cubs that had used their cabin as a winter hibernation spot. While he had taught her well how to protect herself, sadly, his own weapon did no good against an angry, hungry beast.

" _Don't be a writer; it won't support you."_

Again, the naysayers were wrong. Bella Swan, or Isobel Cygnet as the NY Times Bestseller List touted, had a multimillion-dollar contract in the works to bring her latest horror novel to the big screen. That didn't mean she had not received her fair share of rejection notices, but those only served to stoke her desire to make it. Through her writings, she had found her tribe, people who understood the voices that whispered storylines and the dreams she had that made for scintillating chapters. The day Stephen King gave her his personal phone number so they could talk plot points—that was the day she knew she made it.

" _Don't take anyone home from a bar."_

That advice might have been worthwhile, because the few times she had done it, the sex had been pretty lousy. Granted, her partners did provide excellent fodder for soon-to-be offed characters, and she took a bit of pleasure in hacking them to pieces. Metaphorically, of course, but it provided more enjoyment than they had been in bed.

Then there was the last piece of advice her mother had given her before she passed.

" _Don't eat that."_

Appearance was everything to Renee H. S. Dwyer. She never strayed more than two pounds from her ideal weight of 103 pounds, even if it meant starving herself. Bella could not see the logic in that lifestyle. The world had so many wonderful things to sample; she could not and would not deprive herself. As a result, Bella was a good 40 to 50 pounds over the preference of her medical professional, but she was otherwise healthy and happy. And the weight gave her curves and a set of natural Gs that her mother never achieved even with surgical assistance.

So, when her publicist innocently told her, "Don't rush with your next book," Bella began to plan it out immediately. Bella never divulged her disdain for the word so it was not a ploy by any means. Her publicist honestly thought Bella worked too hard and needed a break. But once spoken, the wheels had begun and the writer in her awoke, giving her particularly graphic dreams of her next tome. Three notebooks filled with jots and phrases later, and she was ready to start typing. Her muse was screaming at her to sit down and start writing.

Then the worse thing in the world happened, at least as far as Bella was concerned. A pipe burst in her townhouse and flooded half her home. Fortunately, nothing of any irreplaceable value had been destroyed. Her awards and accolades were safe and sound. Her bedroom, on the other hand, was a complete mess.

Bella discovered that October was a terrible time in Seattle to have a room remodeled, and the waitlist for estimates and action made her want to pull out her hair. Her home was uninhabitable, and she'd never had luck writing in hotels. She needed the coziness a house provided to do her best work. She would fall asleep in her bed, and the story would spin out. The next day, she would write and write and write. Lather, rinse, repeat. But with no bedroom, she had no outlet, and the story pleaded to come out to the point she developed a semi-permanent migraine.

Shape-shifters and things that go bump in the night and fuckings against crypt walls, oh my! No amount of chocolate or craft beer was going to cure the case of grumpies Bella found herself ensnared.

Angela Weber, Personal Assistant extraordinaire, suggested Bella get out of Seattle and provided a list of Airbnb offerings away but not too far from home. A Forks address caught her attention.

"Well, I'll be…" Bella mused, picking up the paper and reading the information.

Dr. and Mrs. Carlisle Cullens' property was now an Airbnb.

Bella had spent four years with her dad in Forks and gone to high school with one of the Cullens' adopted children. Alice, she thought she remembered was the girl's name. Odd girl. Very pale with severe, dark black hair. Almost uber-emo. Alice constantly stared at Bella as if she wanted to approach her and strike up a conversation, but she never got up the nerve to do so. Bella, ever the loner, did not seek out new friends in a place she knew she was only destined to be for a few years. There were some brothers too, Bella remembered, though she could not recollect their names. Everyone in town had chattered about the showpiece home in the woods, though few had ever seen it in person.

She looked at the price and was pleased to observe it was far below what her insurance company had allotted for housing expenses. Two quick phone calls later, and Bella was ready to head to her home away from home.

Traffic out of Seattle was a bitch. Waze had gone nuts every time Bella had gotten her 1967 Chevrolet C10 above 35 miles per hour, recalculating and rerouting her every move. And the perpetual fall rain did not help matters any. Bella swore she would get new windshield wipers as soon as she made it to Forks.

Finally, she pulled to a stop in front of something out of the Frank Lloyd Wright catalogue of exquisite homes. Bella shut off the engine and peered through the rapidly raindrop-covered windshield at the house that would be her living quarters for the next three weeks. Bella studied the house, a gorgeous feat of architecture, balancing raw cedar beams with plate glass windows on the first floor, rising to rain-soaked gray shakes and standard sized windows on the second. She saw the gravel drive had been blown free of leaves, but the rest of the yard was covered in yellow and red.

A quick movement at the roofline caught her attention, but upon a second examination, she saw nothing. Bella rubbed her tired eyes, blinking to clear them afterward. Perhaps she was more worn out than she had thought previously.

"Maybe I should have gone to med school," she muttered with a shake of her head.

After one last look at the house, she steeled herself for a dash through the cold rain since her umbrella was currently stuffed in a box under the tarp in the bed of her truck.

The battleship-gray sky did not appear as if it was going to cease raining any time soon, so grabbing her bag and the truck's keys, she bolted from the vehicle.

Fat, icy raindrops pelted Bella as she dashed from her truck to the front stoop. She yelped as some managed to skirt her ponytail and rolled down her neck and back. Her shoes squished as she toed them off next to the front door and dug out the key. After wrestling with the front door, the lock finally gave way and the door swung open.

"How the hell is it even colder inside than out?" Bella grumbled, reaching for the light switch. Nothing happened. She repeated her actions. On. Off. On. Off. Nothing. Fabulous. No power.

Pulling a printout from her back pocket, Bella headed for the kitchen where she hoped to find further directions. Using the flashlight on her phone, she found the packet of information the Cullens had promised her and scanned the paperwork.

She heard a soft rustle in the distance and the metallic click of a lever being pushed into place. The lights instantaneously came on, and she heard the low, soothing sound of the gas furnace whooshing to life.

"Thank heavens," Bella muttered. She turned off her camera flashlight, setting it down and sluicing water off her hair and arms. She assumed the power was on a timer or some such modern marvel, and thought nothing of it turning on at that particular moment.

Now that was solved, she turned her attention to the packet of information she found leaning against a tableau of a pumpkin, a couple of knobby squash, and apples.

 _Welcome to Cullen House! We hope your stay is enjoyable and that you never want to leave._

Oh, Lord above. There was a smile emoji. Bella hated cutesy emoji with a passion. Bitmoji were more her style.

 _Feel free to use the Wi-Fi (password: vegetarian), the kitchen, sound system, etc. during your stay. Temperature adjustments can be made in the main hallway and just next to the staircase upstairs._

 _The paths around the house make wonderful walking trails and are perfectly safe mid-morning through just before dusk. We are in the woods, after all, and wolves have been seen in the vicinity, so you'll want to be close to the house once it's dark._

Bella scanned the rest of the information, noting garbage pick-up dates, recommended stores (Wow, Forks had grown since her last visit) and the address needed for deliveries. At the mere mention of a library upstairs, she wiped a little drool off her lower lip. This house had to be the most hidden gem of Airbnb!

Now came the time to decide whether to unload her vehicle in the rain or take a nap in the hopes the precipitation ended. A quick glance outside, followed by a longing stare at the overstuffed sofa in the living room in front of gas logs, and her mind was made. Bella clicked on the table lamp, used the handy remote (labeled even!) for the fireplace, and found a blanket neatly folded over the arm of the sofa. Once the gas logs merrily added their warmth to the living room, Bella reached behind and unhooked her bra. A few quick shimmies and both it and her jeans hit the floor.

A dull thud from the kitchen sounded, catching her attention. Bella tiptoed down the hall and saw the pumpkin that had been sitting on the bar smashed on the tile floor. What a mess. She must have gotten it off balance when she retrieved the folder. With a deep sigh, she opened doors until she found the one leading to the laundry room where a broom and dustpan were and cleaned up the mess.

Even more exhausted than before, Bella trudged back to the now-toasty warm living room. She snuggled under the blanket and checked her e-mail on her phone. It was not long 'till her eyes closed, and she rested her head back on the pillow.

As her breathing evened and the grip on her phone relaxed, a shadow in the far corner moved. Edging closer to the sleeping woman, the figure's hands flexed, tightening then relaxing as if a great internal battle raged. Black eyes glittered in the firelight, staring unblinkingly as he stalked closer to the sofa.

"Don't."

The figure turned toward the low whisper, too quiet for an average human to hear, but the speaker and the intended hearer had left that realm close to a century earlier.

He hated the word "Don't."

It made him see red.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And he had heard it frequently in his over 100 years of immortality.

 _Don't use your mindreading ability to eavesdrop._

It was not exactly something he could control. From the moment he awoke after being turned, the innermost thoughts of every single person around him flooded his brain. It was only through decades of self-control and education that he could even begin to turn down the volume.

 _Don't keep ahold of your humanity. You are a vampire and at the top of the food chain._

Fortunately, that had been the party line for the Volturi and not of his creator, Carlisle. He had fought long and hard to remember who he had been prior to his change. It was all he had left of his soul, after all.

 _Don't use your mindreading ability to play judge._

Well, that went against every fiber of his being. There were horrible, terrible monsters among the humans, and he felt it was his right to play judge, jury, and executioner over those who preyed on others.

He blinked several times before vanishing. A soft sigh of exasperation followed and light footsteps clicked across the hardwood floor as the second shadow trailed after the first.

Under the sprawling evergreens facing the living room windows, only partially shielded from the rain, the two shadows met.

"What the hell have you done, Alice?"

"Oh, please, Edward. Show some decorum."

He glared at his younger sister, who properly ignored him, straightening the cuffs on her Burberry raincoat.

"Then I will rephrase the question," he said with mock seriousness. "What the fuck?" Edward gestured wildly toward the living room windows.

"What the fuck, what? I am confused by your questioning." Alice smiled, knowing it would irritate her brother for her to remain calm. "It's time. I merely set things in motion."

"Set things in motion?" His ire grew, and he ran one hand through his now-soaked hair.

"Have you become a parrot since we last were together, Edward? I'm not speaking an archaic, unknown-to-you language. You wanted her when she was in high school, and I saw it wasn't the time then."

"You also said…"

"That was not my fault. The Electoral College sucks and needs to be replaced. Do not pin outside influences on me. I was right on vote counts."

She was still a bit testy over the entire debacle, but was reassured of the upcoming flood of change approaching she foresaw.

"I almost ended her in Esme's living room!"

"You wouldn't dare." Alice straightened to her full height and marched over to him, poking him in the chest. "You will not kill my sister!"

Edward caught her hand and held it firm.

"Let go, Edward." A low, threatening voice from behind him brooked no disobedience.

"So, you're in on this too, Jasper?"

"Where Alice goes, I go." Jasper shrugged as he circled Edward, motioning to his mate's hand still gripped.

Edward deflated slightly and released her. Jasper took his wife's hand and placed a soft kiss on her wrist. She smiled adoringly up at her husband, briefly ignoring the brooding vampire facing them.

"So why not let me meet her in a coffeehouse or a bar or…? I don't know. Something more traditional."

"Edward, darling," Alice cooed in her most soothing voice. "The woman sleeping in there yearns more for Edward Gorey than Prince Edward."

"Yes, I saw the tattoo."

When Bella had slid off her jeans, Edward saw the homage to Edward Gorey on her ankle—a devil wrapping its arms around a young woman, stealing her away. He saw the black, lacy boy shorts that covered her but were enticing just because he knew what they were. Then there was the burgundy unmentionable she unknowingly threw toward him as he stood in the shadows. Every fiber of his upbringing told him to look away, yet he could not.

"As I was saying, she loves the dark, brooding side of the world. The late nights in the cemetery. Dead flowers and cobwebs. She once got stuck on the Haunted Mansion ride at age four and cried when it started back up!"

"And because of all this, you believe she and I are fated to be." Edward huffed and rolled his eyes. "Good God, Alice."

"I don't need a reason to believe you two are fated to be. I've seen it, and that's that."

The vision of Edward drawing back from a woman, his arms around her, blood dripping down his chin, filled his mind. He knew who his victim was. The innocent sleeping a few yards away. He could not let that happen.

So, he ran.

Alice and Jasper watched in silence as Edward disappeared into the woods.

"That went well," Jasper mumbled, examining his wife's wrist for potential damage. Of course, there was none.

"He'll come around."

"And what makes you so certain?"

"A mutual hatred for the word 'Don't.'"

A week later, Bella threw herself onto the sofa in a frustrated lump. She had unpacked her belongings, gotten wonderful sleep every night in the California king bed she had selected, settled in, even cooked in the to-die-for kitchen, and mastered the state-of-the-art washer and dryer. Who knew laundry could be fun?

And yet, the stories did not come to her. She sat for hours in front of her laptop with her notebooks surrounding her, yet the jots and tittles she had dashed down meant absolutely nothing to her. The words were just beyond her reach.

"Fuck," she grumbled, rubbing her eyes in frustration. Perhaps a walk would help. Bella glanced at the clock on the mantle. It would have to be a quick one. Sunset would be in an hour.

Piling on a sweatshirt, her favorite red jacket, hat, and gloves, Bella was ready in minutes. She grabbed the house keys and marched down the porch steps. She breathed in through her nose and exhaled through her mouth a few times, filling her lungs with good, clean autumn air, before heading down one of the paths covered in red and orange leaves.

Dusk fell earlier than she expected and twenty minutes into her walk, she realized she should be heading back. Pivoting on her heel, Bella spun around and changed direction.

 _So, who is that?_

 _I don't know._

 _She came from the house._

 _Is she one of them?_

Bella paused and tilted her head. Was she hearing things? It almost sounded like whispers creeping through the trees from all directions.

Then there was silence. Not even the chirp of a bird or the rustle of a squirrel in the underbrush broke through.

"I think I need to get back and take a nap," Bella whispered to herself. The stress of not being able to write must be working on her nerves. She quickened her pace.

 _She's heading toward the house._

 _She's one of them._

 _She's in alliance with them._

 _She doesn't smell like them._

 _Don't run, girlie!_

And there it was. If ever Bella needed encouragement to take up jogging, hearing the word "Don't" come from unseen voices did it. She had no more than trotted a couple of feet when a wolf the size of a small car jumped out of the woods and blocked her way.

"Holy fuck!" she screamed, stopping instantly.

The beast was huge with dark, black hair and stared at her with yellow eyes. Drool dripped from one side of its mouth, causing her to shudder in revulsion. Panicked, her eyes darted around her, trying to find a weapon of any sort. In her rush to clear her mind, Bella had forgotten her pepper spray, though she was unsure it would have any effect on the giant between her and safety.

The crackling of dead leaves and branches around her told her that there was more than one creature nearby. Her heart pounded as she tried to think of what to do. From out of nowhere, a blur streaked by and the impact thump of two bodies colliding rang through the woods. Bella heard the crunch of bones and the howl of an injured beast.

 _Run!_

The voice was different from the ones before, louder and most definitely female, but Bella found it was excellent advice and raced for the house. Whether she had forgotten to lock the door behind her or the safety gods were looking out for her, she didn't know, but Bella made it securely inside, and slammed and locked the door behind her. She panted for a few moments, clutching her heart that threatened to pound out of her chest.

"Don't walk in the woods. Ever. Got it."

Bella's mind replayed the events of her walk, details she had not originally realized filling in the blanks. She barely made it to the kitchen sink before the adrenaline caused a wave of nausea to twist her stomach and the heaving began.

Spitting the last bit of bile into the sink as she turned on the water and the disposal, Bella shook her head. That could not have been a normal wolf. And those voices? Wherever could those have come? Whatever it was, she had something to write.

Bella hustled upstairs to her laptop and began to type.

"She's writing?" Edward gestured toward the house, his voice filled with incredulity. He straightened his shredded shirt. "Seriously? She was almost killed."

"And she was terrified." Alice nodded in agreement, not looking up from the text she was rapidly sending to Carlisle. He would be able to diffuse the situation and get the rogue wolves disciplined.

"So terrified she threw up, and then ran to her goddamn computer to write it all down!"

"That's what she does, Edward. She writes what she experiences. Remember?" Alice lowered her chin and looked at him with one quirked eyebrow. "All those nights whispering in her ear? Giving her the 'dreams' she thinks inspired her books?"

Edward had the decency to look abashed. "But—"

"There is no but."

"Yes, there is. Me telling her my life story is very different from her putting her own life in danger." He raised his hand to halt her retort. "Had they touched her, had she been harmed in any way, I do not know what I might have done."

"Oh, I think you know, Edward." Alice smiled serenely as the image she had shown him previously, of him embracing Bella, her blood running down his chin, once again assaulted him. "It's getting closer," she said in a singsong voice.

Halloween. Bella's absolute favorite holiday. Black candles provided the only illumination in the house, and warm spices, brown sugar, and butter simmered on the stove in anticipation of being added to a mug of hard cider. A half-carved jack-o'-lantern sat on the bar, replacing the pumpkin that had rolled off the counter, a long carving knife next to it. Pumpkin seeds, heavily salted of course, cooled on a baking sheet. And to add to the ambiance, a full moon filled the sky with a silvery light.

It was all of Bella's most treasured traditions in once place, but instead of enjoying the day, she was cursing a blue streak while trying to find a bandage with one hand wrapped in a tea towel.

"Goddamn fucking fucked," she hissed, opening one bathroom drawer then another, slamming them shut as she went.

Bella tightened the towel around the meat of her left hand's thumb when she realized the blood was leaking through. A strange noise outside had distracted her when she was carving, and in that quick moment, the knife had slipped.

"Who has no Band-Aids?"

More drawers opened and shut as she continued her search.

"Looking for something, sweetheart?"

Bella yelped as she turned around to find the doorway blocked.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Get out of my house!"

"Oh, this isn't your house. Dr. Cullen's letting you stay here, and you've caused me quite a bit of trouble."

The figure moved into the dim candlelight, a tall man with dark features and black hair. A huge tattoo of a wolf took up most of one shoulder, and she could see healing gashes across his bare chest. There was something familiar about the black eyes staring at her with unbridled hatred.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh, think hard." He leaned closer, his face contorting into that of a wolf then back to a man. "I think you know exactly who I am."

Bella's eyes widened in disbelief. He had to be a dream. A nightmare.

"Your little hero got me banished from my pack."

"Who?"

He growled in response, shaking in anger, lunging at her. With a shriek, Bella ducked and slid past him, but not before feeling razor sharp claws slice through her shirt and rake against her ribs. Ignoring the searing pain that shot through her, she clutched her side and ran outside for her truck.

The vehicle roared to life, and Bella, holding the tea towel to her injured ribs, clumsily threw the gearshift in drive and stomped on the gas. The aged truck lurched forward, and like a drunken sailor on leave during shore week, rumbled down the driveway.

She was certain at least one rib was broken given the pain with each breath. She had to make it to town, to someone who could help.

"Come on, baby, give me just a little more," Bella implored, pressing the gas pedal to the floorboards as she tried to control its direction with one hand. "I'll get you premium next time we fill up, just—"

Suddenly, the truck stopped, the rear-end rising off the ground. Bella looked in her side mirror to see the wolf from the forest chomping on the bumper.

"Oh, God."

In the flash of an instant, the rear of her truck dropped to the ground as the wolf disappeared from view. As the spinning tires made contact with the gravel drive, the vehicle fishtailed wildly, and Bella lost what little control she had on the wheel. The sickening crunch of metal against oak ripped through the vehicle. Bracing for impact with the steering wheel, she tensed as the truck spun around, and she heard herself scream, then silence.

Minutes or hours later, she regained consciousness. But all was silent and still. Was she dead? Bella tried to move, but she felt as if iron bands encircled her. She could not see and blinked furiously to clear her eyes, shaking her head.

"Shh. Shh." A familiar whisper in her ear soothed. It was the same one that had encouraged her to run from the wolves. "You've more than likely got a concussion, Bella."

"What?" Unconsciously, she began to struggle to free herself, but it was a futile attempt. Pain shot through her right side where the wolf had mauled her. She could not move her left arm, and her vision was now dark and blurry rather than nonexistent.

"He's coming. Everything will be just fine in a few moments."

Bella felt herself relax at the soothing voice. Then she felt her hair being pushed back from her eyes and what turned out to be arms around her loosen. A familiar presence approached. Without effort, she turned toward the door as a shadowy figure neared.

"I can't do it, Alice." The voice was pained, anguished.

Bella gasped, immediately wincing in pain. She knew that voice. Her eyes widened as she tried to focus on the man beside her.

"It's time," Alice assured. "I'm sorry, Bella. I couldn't see the wolves in time to make this less crucial." She released the injured woman, gently turning her toward the open truck door.

Bella's eyes cleared, and she recognized the defeated-looking man facing her. His clothes were torn as if he had fought a pack of wild beasts. The realization that he had fought off the wolf clicked in her brain, and her mouth formed an O.

"You!" Bella hissed; her voice just barely audible. Even that single word sent searing pain through her chest, and she doubled over, threatening to fall out of the mangled vehicle.

A new set of arms enveloped her, protecting her. She knew him. Somehow. Someway. Like the fuzzy edges of a deep sleep dream, she recognized the man holding her reverently. It was her muse. The voice in the night that brought her tales of dark vengeance and erotic promise.

"You're him."

Edward nodded. "Yes, love."

"Mine," Bella asserted, clutching his upper arm with her left hand, the tea towel lost in the wreck.

Edward's eyes widened as the scent of her rich blood assaulted him, and holding his breath, he moved as if to step away.

"Don't," she whispered, lifting her bloody hand to his face. "Don't ever leave me."

And for the first time, both reveled in that word.


End file.
